Sweet Spontaneity

There's a race of men that don't fit in, 

A race that can't sit still; 

So they break the hearts of kith and kin, 

And they roam the world at will. 

They range the field and rove the flood, 

And they climb the mountain's crest; 

Their's is the curse of the gypsy blood, 

And they don't know how to rest. 

-- Robert W. Service